Winter's come early

I’m a live-in-the-moment guy. I’m good with summer. It should be hot. I’m good with winter. It should be cold. Fall should be crisp and colorful and beautiful. Spring should be damp and colorful and, yes, beautiful. I don’t like to wish time away. I am here, right now, stretched out on that flat circle of time—or marching along a line that’s inching closer to zero (depending on whether you are a Rust Cohle or Tyler Durden kinda person, of course). I’m usually good to embrace either of those “realities,” regardless of external circumstances.

That being said…

Yesterday morning, I woke up before dawn—before my phone started chiming its normal 5:30, “time to greet the day” reminder—with the wind howling, my nose cold to the touch. More alarming was the sound of my furnace, audible from three floors above, wheezing and whining and grinding. Its motor was shot.

Cut to now, just five minutes ago, and the call that’s doomed my evening: the new motor I ordered didn’t come in. It was 48 degrees in my house when I left for work this morning, and it’ll be about that when I get home in a few hours. The tools I set out to replace it will stay where they are, untouched on the basement floor, for at least another day.

Screw living in the moment. I’m darn well ready for spring.

#text